


The Boy With The Thorn In His Side

by Ineffabilitea



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Community: hp_beholder, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-18
Updated: 2008-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:12:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ineffabilitea/pseuds/Ineffabilitea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asked to work together gathering evidence against Death Eaters in the aftermath of Voldemort's first defeat, two men with nothing in common discover that's not necessarily so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy With The Thorn In His Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetmelodykiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetmelodykiss/gifts).



> Written for **sweetmelodykiss** in the first round of **hp_beholder** on InsaneJournal.

"I refuse to work with him!"

Moody didn't think Snape was exactly in a position to be making demands, and was about to say so when Dumbledore did it for him, though more gently than Moody had been planning to.

"Severus, this is the opportunity I'm giving you to help our cause. You do recall our previous discussion of why you must help, don't you?"

Or, from the sudden look of affront on Snape's face, perhaps not so gentle after all. That was Dumbledore for you.

"I don't trust him," Snape snarled. "He's probably just waiting for you to leave him alone with me so he can play 'torture the Death Eater.'"

Now it was Moody's turn to snarl. "See here, you presumptuous little—"

"Alastor, might I urge calm? I assure you, Severus, that Alastor is as trustworthy as you yourself."

Snape let out a snort at that that was matched by Moody's own. The two men eyed each other warily.

"Well, then, I am afraid I must return to Hogwarts, so I shall leave you two gentlemen to discuss your strategy," Dumbledore said, and left the room with a twirl of his robes.

As the door shut behind him, Moody coughed irritably and began to pace, one eye never leaving Dumbledore's kept Death Eater. After another minute or so of awkward silence, in which Snape continued only to eye him with wary contempt, he coughed again. Well, only one of the two men in the room was a trained Auror, after all, so he supposed he should be the one to lay out their plans.

"Snape," he said shortly. "Here's the plan. You'll—"

"Oh no," Snape cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm, "let me _guess_. I'll be the bait, to lure in suspected Death Eaters, while you lurk under an invisibility cloak until they incriminate themselves, then you jump out and drag them off to Azkaban? Because if that's your brilliant plan, _Mad-Eye_, it won't work, and regardless of what Dumbledore thinks I 'must' do, he's already a fool for entrusting me to the tender care of the Ministry's most unhinged Auror. I won't be party to such foolhardy, Gryffindor, stupefy-first-and-ask-questions-never nonsense."

"Are you done?"

Snape crossed his arms over his chest and increased the intensity of his black glare. "Quite," he spat.

"Good," Moody replied, ceasing to pace. "Because you're right; that plan doesn't have a Krup's chance in a Horntail nest of working. Which is why it's _not_ my plan."

"Oh," Snape said blandly, not looking a bit chastened.

"Now, you will be having conversations with some of your _friends_, and I will be present, in fact under an invisibility cloak. But that's it. They talk, I listen and make a record of the conversation. If the Ministry amasses enough evidence, they may someday use what we gather at trial. Or my records may collect dust in some archive and you'll have had an excuse to catch up with all of your old gang."

"Why do you assume I'm so eager to see them all again?" Snape muttered.

Moody knew it was likely meant rhetorically, but that didn't stop him from replying. "Are you saying you didn't join an illegal, Dark, secret society dedicated to the overthrow of the Ministry and the eradication of Muggles and Muggleborn just to keep up with your old friends from school?"

He flattered himself that Snape's snort in response might have verged on a laugh.

~*~

"It's been going well so far. What's got you all jumpy about this time?"

Snape turned to glare at him. "I am _not_ jumpy."

"Yes, yes. Now what's the problem?"

"Greyback."

"Greyback's a problem? All our evidence suggests he's not the brightest gnome in the garden, so he shouldn't be the one to figure out you're working for—"

"Why do you even need me to talk to him?" Snape suddenly broke in, on the verge of shouting. "He's an unregistered werewolf, can't you lock him up just for that?"

"If it were up to me, but Magical Law Enforcement—"

"Have you ever seen Greyback? Met him, spoken to him?"

"Can't say I've had the pleasure."

"Have you ever seen a transformed werewolf? Had one snapping at your ankles?"

"Not that close, no—"

"Well, maybe if you had, you'd know why I'm _jumpy_."

Moody huffed with irritation. He knew this collaboration with Snape had gone too well so far. "Are you going to have problems talking with Greyback, then?"

"No. No, I— the creature just unnerves me, is all. I can handle him. Your information is correct; he is an idiot."

"Good. We're late."

But Moody watched Snape at the Hog's Head that evening. Moody seemed to be watching Snape an awful lot, these days; it was all part of the task Dumbledore had foisted on him. Merlin knew he couldn't do anything else under the cloak, not even scratch his balls when they itched. So watching Snape it was.

For one so often awkward, abrupt and graceless, he took to the difficult role he'd been thrust into by Dumbledore with confidence. Moody attributed this to the romanticism the word 'spy' exercised upon the souls of the young and overly impressionable. Not that Snape usually seemed impressionable, or even young, even if he was only a few years out of Hogwarts. He covered all such signs of weakness in sneers and insults normally, or, in these staged encounters with his Death Eater colleagues, with artful changes of subject and subtle implications that he knew more than he could reveal or, depending on his interlocutor, that he knew far less than they and was prepared to defer to them.

If Moody had been willing to admit that Snape had earned his grudging respect, he might also have been willing to admit that the man was a born spy.

Tonight, though, Snape was different. Listening to Greyback prattle on, Moody had no doubt the creature (who was, indeed, as despicable as Snape had led him to expect, discussing the growth of his pack in oily and sickeningly lustful tones) had no suspicion's about his compatriot's motives. But still there were subtle differences in Snape's behavior – a refusal to sit too close to Greyback, a bead of sweat running down the column of his neck, a tendency to meet the werewolf's eyes too often, as though to compensate for not wanting to meet them at all.

Tonight he seemed young, and from a certain angle in the half-lit pub even vulnerable, and Moody told himself the strange rising urge he felt to protect the man was only natural.

He wanted to protect everyone; that's why he was an Auror.

If that want wasn't usually so viscerally physical, so what? Snape could rarely be counted on to say more than three civil words to him. There were ten more names on their list (eleven, if you counted Malfoy, who wasn't officially on the list), then Snape would be gone from Moody's life.

~*~

"Could use a Firewhiskey after that?"

Moody only just caught the rising tone at the end of the phrase that turned it into a question, directed it at him.

"I think Aberforth needs to close up," he said noncommittally.

"You are aware there are other places in Britain that serve Firewhiskey." Snape's usual biting tone seemed somewhat muted.

That decided it for Moody. "In that case, I certainly could."

When it turned out the other place in Britain Snape had in mind was his quarters at Hogwarts, Moody had second thoughts. He squelched them carefully, though, at a loss to come up with any way out of the situation that wouldn't damage his tenuous working relationship with Snape.

It was very important that he and Snape be able to keep working together, of course. More important than any other, more personal, reasons why Moody might accept an invitation into Snape's personal apartments.

The Firewhiskey was produced and poured, but they drank mostly in silence. Not that Moody was complaining; companionable silence, with Snape, was more than most men ever earned, he suspected.

"Fine job tonight," he did say as he started on his second glass.

Snape snorted. "You too," he replied, sounding as if he meant it.

"Yeah, I did a fine job of sitting there, still and silent as the grave." Moody raised his glass in mock toast.

"I would not expect many people to be able to sit idly by while Greyback discussed his … perversions," Snape clarified. "Least of all yourself."

"'The Ministry's most unhinged Auror', you mean?" Moody tried to keep any edge from his voice.

"I was referring more to your well-known thirst to bring Dark wizards to justice. But feel free to read into my comments whatever presumptions you wish. Merlin knows everyone else does."

Silence again. Moody watched Snape twist his glass in his hands impatiently. "It's not an unearned reputation," he finally offered.

"Which one?" Snape asked.

"Both, but I was talking of the general view that I'm not right in the head. It's— I've done some things I don't like to think about, just because they seemed the only way at the time."

Snape looked pensive. "We've all done things we're not proud of," he replied finally, and his words had the bitter twist of too much truth.

Impulsively, Moody held out his half-full glass. "Here's to never having to do them again."

The look Snape gave him was inscrutable. "I wish I could drink to that," he murmured, even as their glasses met with a clink.

~*~

Moody wanted Lucius Malfoy. Not in the way he was only beginning to admit to himself he wanted Snape; he wanted the bastard Malfoy exposed for the Death Eater he was. He wanted him in Azkaban.

Dumbledore had cautioned against pursuing evidence on Malfoy. Those of his fellow Aurors who were trustworthy were against it, too. Even Snape had told him conversation with Malfoy would yield nothing.

But Moody had talked him into making the attempt, regardless. So he had only himself to blame when it went pear-shaped.

Certainly they weren't lurking at the Hog's Head this evening. All their very carefully arranged 'accidental' meetings had to take place where their suspects would feel comfortable, which in Malfoy's case meant at his club. The exclusivity left Snape with only a thin excuse for his own presence, and this had them both on edge from the start.

Malfoy had joined Snape at his table readily enough. The man was past master at meaningless small talk, and Moody listened impatiently to his calculated but ultimately inane discussion of current Ministry gossip. He silently urged Snape to nudge Malfoy towards more revealing topics, unwilling to have arranged this meaning only to have the slippery stoat escape his clutches again.

Almost as though he could read Moody's thoughts, Snape then began to ask a more complex question about the Ministry, but he'd only got about four words into it when Malfoy, who'd been watching the bartender, interrupted.

"So sorry, Severus, but it seems my room is finally ready. Would you care to join me there for another drink?" He stood, and indicated an adjoining corridor with a tilt of his head.

"Yes, yes of course," Snape replied, rising to follow.

By necessity Moody had to lag a little behind, so as to stay out of their way but also to silently cast a few spells in order to follow the two men without being easily detected by his footfalls or the clomp of his wooden leg. And so it was that by the time he was once again in listening range, on the threshold of Malfoy's private salon, this was what he heard:

"—conversation. In fact, you do seem to be uncharacteristically social these days, Severus, catching up with all sorts of old acquaintances, I hear." Malfoy's voice was deadly calm.

"After days spent surrounded by empty-headed schoolchildren, can I be blamed for seeking adult conversation?" Snape asked by way of response, coolly.

"For that I would not blame you, no," Malfoy responded, equally coolly. "But you – and whomever you're working for, Dumbledore or perhaps the Ministry – made one error. Since when have you ever voluntarily spoken to Greyback, Severus? The mere presence of the werewolf is usually enough to have you pissing yourself."

Snape hissed, and Malfoy drew his wand. This was escalating far too quickly. Moody began to run through exit scenarios in his head.

"I do so hope I am mistaken in my suspicions," Malfoy continued pleasantly, though he now had Snape at wandpoint. "Of course, as a sign of good faith, now would be an ideal time to reveal any recording spells on your person or listeners concealed under invisibility cloaks."

Moody didn't have time to wonder whether that was a lucky guess or a sign of a dangerous error on his part. Whatever Malfoy knew or suspected, he was completely unaware that this particular listener concealed under an invisibility cloak was directly behind him and had his wand at the ready. "Stupefy," Moody murmured, and watched Malfoy fall. Snape moved to catch him before he hit the floor, as Moody slipped off the cloak.

At the sight of him, Snape's eyes narrowed. "Nice of you to join us."

"All right?" Moody tried to sound curt, but worry bled into his voice.

"I am perfectly fine. Now what are you doing?"

"Obliviating him."

"So nice of you to worry about my _cover_ at a time like this. We have to get out of here before anyone comes to check on him."

"Naturally," Moody replied, slipping a pillcase from his pocket. "Here's our Portkey."

Snape rolled his eyes but fell silent as he reached out for the Portkey and they escaped.

Of course, the silence didn't last long once he saw where they were. "What are you doing with a Portkey into my living quarters?"

Mody tried not to look shifty, but his magical eye, which sometimes had a mind of its own, wouldn't look at Snape. "Well, in an emergency situation, Hogwarts is the ideal place for us to return to, since Dumbledore's here, and the hospital wing."

"Right. But neither Dumbledore nor the hospital wing is particularly convenient to _my private rooms_." Snape fixed him with an uncomfortable look.

"Thought you'd be more comfortable here?" Moody mumbled.

"Thought _you'd_ be more comfortable, is more like it," Snape said.

Now it was Moody's turn to snarl. "What?"

"You heard me. And I've seen the way you look at me. Don't try to deny it."

"How could you have seen the way I look at you when I'm under a bloody invisibility cloak the whole time?" Moody shouted.

"You admit it, then?" Snape retorted.

Moody buried his head in his hands. "Fine, I admit it! What did you expect me to do about it?"

"Not make a Portkey straight into my home that you could use without so much as asking, for starters. You could've tried kissing me, for example."

Snape glared at him, but instead of glaring right back, Moody closed the distance between them in two swift steps. "Fine," he murmured, and then he kissed him, all right.

He hadn't honestly expected Snape to kiss him back, as prickly as he was, but he did, almost right away, as if he had been _daring_ Moody to kiss him earlier. The kiss was forceful, still simmering with the emotions stirred up by their argument, and before that by the adrenaline of Malfoy's threats.

Scarcely aware of what he was doing as their kiss continued without any loss of intensity, Moody came back to himself at a small 'oof' from Snape, who was now pinned against one of the cold stone walls of the room. Moody backed away slightly, to give the other man some air and a chance to end the encounter.

That was not Snape's reaction, however. He began to undo the clasps of Moody's patched robes. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes," Moody heard himself rasp in reply.

"Good." Snape hummed, and kissed him again, this time beginning with the lips but then traveling on to new locations as more clasps were unclasped. Moody quickly moved to return the favor, reaching for the first of Snape's many, many buttons.

Time seemed to pass more quickly, blurred by the intensity and heat of Snape's mouth on him. The buttons were undone; Snape was pushing them towards the bedroom, and Moody found himself knocked against furniture and walls along the way. Then Moody was flat on his back, on the bed and then, the blurring stopped for a stunning moment as Snape quickly prepared himself and then began to lower himself onto Moody's cock.

A long groan escaped Moody's lips.

"Feels good."

In his current state, Moody couldn't tell if Snape's words were meant as a question or a simple observation, but he moaned "Yeah" in reply anyway, needing to somehow vocalize the fantastic feeling of Snape tight and slick around him.

That about concluded the conversation portion of the evening, not that Moody minded. He concentrated on keeping his clumsy body as smooth and controlled as he could, wanting this to last.

Still, it wasn't very long before he was crying out a warning to Snape that he was about to come. Snape himself lasted only a few moments longer, pulling himself off and ejaculating messily over the both of them.

He was still only for a moment before carefully rising and crossing the room to get his robe. Moody sat up. He hadn't exactly figured Snape for a cuddler.

"You staying?" Snape asked.

"Actually, I should probably go," Moody answered. He expected Snape would appreciate undisguised practicality. "I'll be expected in early at the office tomorrow."

Snape shrugged. "Suits me. Bloody classes start far too early, if you ask me."

"You and everyone else in this castle. Do this again sometime?" Moody asked, fastening his robes.

Snape gave him a look that was almost a smile. "I try to keep my Thursday evenings free of marking. But don't just Portkey in; show some courtesy and Floo me first."

"If you insist," Moody replied. "Speaking of Floo, could I use yours to get home?"


End file.
